


Stronger Together

by bob_fish, enemytosleep



Series: The Jungle Adventure of Doom [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Post Ep99, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23355439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob_fish/pseuds/bob_fish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemytosleep/pseuds/enemytosleep
Summary: The jungle is indeed hot, humid, and, despite the cover of foliage, uncomfortably bright. Yasha leads them through it, beating their way through underbrush with a greatsword that looks as though it probably weighs more than Essek himself. Caleb walks just behind her, keeping track of the group’s direction. Veth has shimmied up trees to scout, her stocky halfling limbs surprisingly nimble and sure. Caduceus has had an informative discussion with the local plants. Jester and Beauregard have made up a mildly obscene song and taught it to everyone. Fjord has tried to intimidate some vines. No one has suggested to Essek that he might contribute anything.In hindsight, this trip was a stupid plan. The last three years, frankly, were a stupid plan. He’d wanted knowledge. All he has gained is a target on his back, the dubious benefit of hindsight, and a pit of regret inside him that grows deeper and more unbearable … and more recently, blisters._______Or the fic where Essek joins TM9 on a jungle adventure.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Series: The Jungle Adventure of Doom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682572
Comments: 98
Kudos: 408
Collections: Essek Week





	Stronger Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day #6 // Possibilities of [Essek Week on Tumblr](https://essek-week.tumblr.com).

“It isn’t the heat, it’s the fucking humidity,” Fjord says, after slapping a gnat from his neck. It’s a fair comment. Essek just misses why the others all laugh at it. There’s a stream of comments, more laughter. Essek wouldn’t call them jokes, exactly: more like references to other jokes made at other times. The chatter is impossible to follow. Back in Xhorhas, Essek felt so strongly that he’d never been more at home than he was with these people. Now, every conversation seems to loop past him and leave him floundering and baffled.

Caduceus is looking at Essek. Essek blinks. Caduceus gives him a mild smile and a nod. “Probably best to just roll with it,” he says, in answer to nothing. 

“I am trying,” Essek says. “It’s not inaccurate. The jungle is very—lively, but.” 

“The bugs are enjoying us,” Caduceus says, sounding far too happy about it. 

The jungle is indeed hot, humid, and, despite the cover of foliage, uncomfortably bright. Yasha leads them through it, beating their way through underbrush with a greatsword that looks as though it probably weighs more than Essek himself. Caleb walks just behind her, keeping track of the group’s direction. Veth has shimmied up trees to scout, her stocky halfling limbs surprisingly nimble and sure. Caduceus has had an informative discussion with the local plants. Jester and Beauregard have made up a mildly obscene song and taught it to everyone. Fjord has tried to intimidate some vines. No one has suggested to Essek that he might contribute anything. 

In hindsight, this trip was a stupid plan. The last three years, frankly, were a stupid plan. He’d wanted knowledge. All he has gained is a target on his back, the dubious benefit of hindsight, and a pit of regret inside him that grows deeper and more unbearable … and more recently, blisters. 

(He had hoped that his choosing to walk rather than hover on their jungle trek would be taken as an important concession, symbolically speaking. In fact, Jester and Veth made three minutes of jokes about how short Essek actually is, and then everyone ignored it. And now there are blisters.)

He is not currently under arrest for treason against the Dynasty. So there is that, at least. Not that he knew for certain that such a thing would happen. Perhaps he did not need to leave at all. He felt such relief after the peace talks were done, like a long exhalation that let out a tension in him he’d forgotten he was holding. 

This peace within him did not last long. The prickle of unease was hard to pin down, but it did not let him settle. 

He knew himself to be an object of suspicion. There was no rational reason to believe that the resolution of this stupid bargain he’d made would bring suspicion on him. 

He never fully gave his trust to the Cerberus Assembly, after all. That free pursuit of knowledge, unfettered by superstition, had drawn him to them. But they were also, after all, as free of loyalty and decency as Essek himself. Somewhat freer, it seems. 

Jester’s Sending, the usual chatty request for transport was, this time, a welcome distraction; an excuse to be briefly elsewhere. 

Apparently, the Mighty Nein’s ship has been under siege by the Lucidian Ocean itself, or something like it, and this relates to Fjord’s dealings with an entity called Uk’otoa, with whom he made a bargain he regrets. Essek knows the feeling. And now the Nein, mercurial and impulsive as ever, have decided they urgently need to visit this entity’s temple—the third of three, apparently, and they have dealt with the other two. Essek, from the moment he first laid eyes on these people that day in the Bright Queen’s court, has noted he should expect the unexpected from them. 

He did not expect to hear himself volunteer to join them on their quest. 

Jester, of course, started it. _We_ really _appreciate the teleporting, again. Hey, you want to come with us? It’ll be super dangerous._

 _Perhaps not quite as dangerous as my own home, presently,_ Essek had thought. Still, he’d had no intention of volunteering for such an excursion.

Then Caleb had said, _You would be very welcome, if you wanted to join us. Perhaps this kind of thing is not your cup of tea. But. If you wanted to, I think we could do some good together._

He was looking Essek in the eye with that utter intensity he has sometimes. 

_Yes,_ Essek had said. _Why not?_  
  
As sweat pours down his back in the middle of an untamed jungle, Essek is still debating with himself _why_. 

_____________________

“Hello,” Essek says. 

They are on the deck of the Ball Eater; Jester turns to him, and her face splits in a grin. 

“Oh my god, you’re really coming with us!” She looks him up and down. “You look so adventurey, this is gonna be great! Hey _you guys_!” Her voice raises to a shout with some impressive range on it. “Caleb! Essek is back and he has his stuff and he’s all rugged now!”

Essek blinks. He wouldn’t call this travelling outfit rugged, as such. He’d asked his tailor, back when he’d had it made, for comfort and a little more durability than the suits he usually wears under his mantle. The silk-wool serge pants drape and tuck nicely into his boots; the matching vest and cuffs are closely fitted but practical. He feels a little exposed without even the short travelling cloak that goes with it, but it seemed prudent under the circumstances that he not appear to be hiding anything. Not to mention all his time in the Menagerie Coast has proved uncomfortably tropical. 

Beauregard climbs down the rigging in an instant; Fjord starts down from the upper rear deck. Caleb emerges from below deck along with Veth, and his smile is warming. The tortle on their crew looks at Essek with assessing curiosity. 

“Nice pants,” Beauregard says. “What’s in the bag?”

“Welcome to the Mighty Nein!” Jester cuts in. “We should have, like, an initiation, or a party or?”

“Okay, how ‘bout we start by turning that bag out onto the deck?” Beauregard says. She crosses her arms across her chest and lifts her chin in challenge. 

“Really, Beau?” Fjord asks as he joins the gathering crew.

“He’s been working both sides this whole time, and we can’t trust he doesn’t have some spy-sabotage shit prepped.”

Essek nods. What else can he do? He is a suspect individual. He can’t blame her for having the good sense not to trust or like him. 

He crouches, flips open the bag of holding, and carefully lets its contents spill onto the deck. Some of the books, the older and more fragile ones, need to be righted straight away. He retrieves a bag of fragrant dried herbs and tucks it into its place in a folded shirt. 

“Wow,” Veth says. “That is a _lot of platinum_.” 

“Were you planning on doing some shopping at the temple?” Yasha says. She sounds deadly serious, but Essek has a sinking feeling he’s being lined up for one of her rare but deadly roasts.

“He could probably just _buy_ the temple with this,” Veth says. “Hey, that’s one way to take care of things; maybe we should do that.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re heading anywhere you can spend that,” Fjord says. “So what’s the deal there?” 

Essek sighs, picking up the platinum brick by brick and replacing it in the bag. He may as well be honest. That’s a part of the point of this, isn’t it? “I have had this bag packed and ready for a while. It was for in case I needed to—travel—in a hurry, and so it is supposed to cover various contingencies.” 

“Like, buying a _house _?” Veth says, raising her eyebrows.__

__Essek shrugs. “If it were necessary.”_ _

__Caleb is kneeling by the bricks now, close by Essek. Frumpkin the monkey perches on his shoulder, tiny fingers plucking at Caleb’s sleeve. “Essek,” Caleb says. Essek looks up and Caleb offers him a brick. “I’m not so sure it would have been wise to flash these in Rexxentrum.” He taps the Dynasty mint stamp on the brick._ _

__Essek looks down for a moment before it registers. “Ah,” he says. He takes the brick and puts it in his bag. “Well, I myself am also very obviously of Xhorhasian mint.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Veth says, “but you can disguise yourself. Wait, can you disguise the platinum bricks?” He can’t tell if the question is genuine or a tease._ _

__“Was your pal Ludinus gonna exchange these for you?” Beauregard says._ _

__Essek shrugs. Of course he had hoped that his allies would aid him in settling himself, for mutual benefit … oh. This was a terrible plan, wasn’t it? He lifts his hands helplessly. Sniping back is pointless._ _

__“So this is like, your bug out bag?” Beauregard grins. “Tons and tons of cash with _I’m from Xhorhas_ stamped right on it, fancy outfits, vacation reading—” her glance at the books is more careful, “and uh, some potpourri?” She spots a small bottle. Essek represses a wince as she sniffs it and, predictably, her face splits into a grin again. “Essek, is this fuckin’ _cologne_?” _ _

__“Yes,” Essek says carefully, riding out several snorts of laughter. Fjord is looking away, hiding his mouth with one hand. Essek resists the urge to look helplessly to Caleb. “A range of contingencies, as I said. There are travelling clothes, also? I am prepared for a variety of situations.”_ _

__Beauregard snorts again.  
  
“Listen,” Fjord cuts in. “If you’re joining us on this expedition, we’re going to need you to be honest about your intentions.”_ _

__His intentions? Essek doesn’t know how to answer that question to himself, let alone his friends. “I hoped to travel with you,” he says. “That together, we could do some good.”_ _

__“And you just—” Beauregard shrugs, “—took off from Rosohna, and your job, and your estate, without mentioning it to anyone?”_ _

__“Not at all,” Essek says. “I just took some time to complete some necessary affairs and to let the relevant people know that I would be travelling.”_ _

__“You say who with?” Beauregard has her eyes narrowed with deadly focus. This is an interrogation. Very prudent of her; he can’t fault it._ _

__“Of course I didn’t. I don’t have to account for my every movement—”_ _

__“You were under watch five minutes ago—”_ _

__“I’m under watch now, am I not?”_ _

__Fjord says, “Well, I think what Beau’s getting at is: are you on the run? Are we going to have the Bright Queen sending a bunch of assassins after us?”_ _

__Essek blinks. “I have no reason to think that. Rest assured.”_ _

__“Oh super,” Veth says. “It’s not like you’ve ever lied to us or anything, this is very reassuring.”_ _

__“I have no new information that might make me believe I’m in more danger,” Essek says. “I have shared it all with you. Perhaps it would not be so bad for me to be away from Rosohna for a little while. I was hoping — I truly did want to see if I can help you here. But,” he moves to place his clothes in the bag. “It’s very sensible that you have doubts. As you’ve said,” and he doesn’t look at Caleb, “you do not trust me, and as I have said, that will help you survive.” He starts re-packing his books. “Give me a moment to gather my belongings, and then I shall be going.”_ _

__“No, no, no,” Jester says, “you’re not coming with us now? What happened? Did we offend you?” She’s stepped over into his space, bends down, and tilts her head. “We really meant it, you know.” She straightens up at speed, nearly poking Essek in the ear with a horn tip. “Hey, guys! We meant it, right?”_ _

__“I certainly did,” Caduceus says evenly._ _

__“Yes, and so did I,” Caleb says. “And in fact we discussed it, and we are all in agreement, are we not?”_ _

__Yasha levels a look at Essek. “I’m actually very happy not to let you out of my sight.” She grins; it shows a lot of teeth._ _

__Essek holds her gaze coolly, out of habit, or at least he attempts the thing. Wearing a mask comes easily to him, except somehow where these people are concerned._ _

__The silence extends for a long, awkward moment._ _

__“Right,” Fjord says. “So, we should bring you up to speed, then. We were thinking with all the attacks on the ship, it was time we investigated Uk’otoa’s last temple.”_ _

__He pulls a few maps of various sizes from his bag before selecting one to unfurl. Essek is fond of maps, ordinarily; he has several antique ones framed in his study. However, in the case of the Mighty Nein, he has learned to regard their maps with both weariness and trepidation._ _

__“So here’s the jungle. I saw it in a dream,” Fjord says as he points to a location on the Menagerie Coast. “Uko’toa, my uh, former patron,” he coughs to clear his throat, “used to communicate with me through dreams. He used these to show me the three temples that were keeping him sealed: one on an island, one below the sea, and the third, we think, is here.”_ _

__Essek looks at where Fjord indicates on the map: the great Copia Wildwood that lies to the north of Port Damali, hugging the Tyodan River as it approaches the Cyrios Mountains. “This is around two hundred square miles of terrain. Do you have any more … details of this temple’s location?”_ _

__Caduceus smiles. “Yeah, don’t worry. I talked to the Wildmother earlier and got a good steer on it. It’s definitely in the Copia Wildwoods, it’s still being guarded, and it’s near Copia Lake.”_ _

__Essek looks back to the map. Copia Lake has a perimeter of over a hundred miles. Essek smiles tightly._ _

__“And thennnnn—” Jester draws out the word. “I also asked the Traveler and he told me exactly where it was.”_ _

__“Not quite how it happened,” Fjord says._ _

__“I asked him if the Wildmother got it right about the lake and he said yes,”—Essek sees Fjord visibly repressing an eye roll— “and then I pointed at this spot on the map, and he said no, and then I pointed at _this_ spot and he said yes. So actually yes, he did, exactly.” _ _

__Jester’s small finger is on the map pointing at a spot on the west side of the lake. Essek draws a quill from his bag—ignoring Beauregard’s eyes following his hand—and taps the spot. “That helps. So we might aim for here.”_ _

__“Maybe not, like, _right_ there,” Jester says. “The other temples were full of worshippers and guardians and stuff. We kind of want to take them by surprise.”_ _

__Essek represses his first two responses to this. “I’m sure if we teleported into the centre of their temple, we would indeed surprise them. However, with these circumstances, the chances of such precision are small.” He folds his arms, missing his mantle. The amount of random chance and risk inherent to teleporting with this little information is—well, he does not like the prospect of inaccuracies and mishaps causing injury, and, worse, embarrassment. “Well, I am ready when you are.”_ _

__“You don’t need to get your four hours’ rest in?” Fjord asks._ _

__“Only four?” Veth says. “Oh, is it that thing? I know that elves sleep standing up with their eyes open, but that’s interesting it’s only for four hours.” She sounds horribly confident about that._ _

__“Not quite,” Essek says. “Tell me: is it true that halflings can’t look skyward?”_ _

__“I think perhaps,” Caleb cuts in, the barest hint of a grin peeking out, “we could _all_ do with some sleep before we set out. That was a hard fight.”_ _

__Essek tilts his head. “There was a fight?”_ _

__“Oh yeah,” Jester says. “The dragon turtle! Didn’t we tell you? Or maybe you didn’t get that part of the message? We just fought it, like, _right_ before I called you. That’s why the ship’s so beat up!”_ _

__Essek looks around, lost for words. The ship is indeed looking somewhat the worse for wear. Evidently there was time for some healing and repair before he arrived, but now that he looks, he sees the signs in them. Caduceus leans back against a mast, his eyes half-closed. Beauregard is holding herself a little stiffly. Caleb seems a little wide-eyed and rattled. Frumpkin the monkey lightly jumps from Caleb’s shoulder to Essek’s via the top of Jester’s head. Essek strongly prefers the cat form, but he pets Frumpkin’s head anyway._ _

__“Well,” Essek says, stroking Frumpkin under the chin, “that explains a great deal.”_ _

__“We got the ball out of Fjord, though,” Veth says. “So that’s good.”_ _

__Ball? Out? Essek takes it all back. Nothing is explained. Perhaps that is for the best._ _

__

____

_____________________

For the third time this afternoon, Essek refastens the closures of his shirt collar, encasing the delicate skin of his neck once more within the damp cambric. He is far past the point where he first began to sweat, and he has been sweating profusely. Now, though, it’s more prudent that he keep the insects at bay. The sharp sting of their bites reignites with each drop of sweat that runs over them. Why do the others not seem as affected? He itches a small welt behind his ear, then runs his hand through his hair as though to fix it into place, though that, too, is soaked through and sticking to parts of his face — which then connects firmly with a wall.

Except the wall is the barbarian woman, Yasha, and she has suddenly stopped walking. 

“We’re being watched,” Caduceus says evenly as they all turn to him. He tilts his head, angling a soft ear one way and then the other. “There are several of them.”

Without a word, the Mighty Nein begin to close ranks. Yasha gently pushes Essek toward the center of the group as she reaches with her other hand to grasp the hilt of her greatsword. Essek looks to Caleb, whose body shimmers briefly as he casts a protection spell from the leather thong at his thigh. Essek lifts himself up from the jungle floor and listens carefully.

A large creature emerges from the underbrush before them, its thick paws splaying on the ground as each bears the beast’s weight. It is a panther, or some version of it, with coarse black fur and great fangs yellowed and slick with drool. From its neck grow large tendrils that sway lazily above the beast’s head, each ending in a bed of barbs that curve like teeth. It’s a displacer beast: he’s read about these once in his lessons decades ago.

The displacer beast snarls at them and slowly stalks closer. Essek reaches for his component pouch and—

Beauregard rushes forward, straight to the creature. She yells as she punches its nose, then cracks down on its skull with a downward elbow, except the creature shimmers at the impacts and the monk’s elbow passes through air. Essek instead traces the sigil for Sapping Sting, and at his word the creature suffers a necromantic drain. It roars and falls prone, and its form solidifies, not in the spot it originally appeared. Beauregard grins viciously as she seems to understand. These beasts’ special talent is to bend the light around them in order to trick their foes. It’s not impossible to strike them, just a little tougher. Essek looks over his shoulder and sees two more creatures have entered the fray. 

“May the Wildmother grant you her blessings!” Caduceus calls out, his voice booming.

“Oh, and the Traveler, too! He is blessing you like a lot right now!”

Yasha and Fjord have moved against the two new beasts, who are backing away as each fighter slashes at them in turn, but the barbed tendrils have far greater reach than the heavy swords. A tendril lashes out, catches Fjord’s sword arm on the bare skin above the elbow, and whips back, shredding flesh as it goes. Fjord makes a gritted sound. This situation needs remedying, urgently. Essek pulls a black marble from his pouch and concentrates on forming a gravity sinkhole behind the beasts that won’t _also_ take his allies—there. The spell surges through him, and the jungle itself distorts in a large sphere. The creatures roar as it sucks them toward its center, crushing them with bone-breaking force.

Something slams into his ribs. Pulls back. Distantly he hears the tear of fabric as it rips the very skin from his ribs. He drops the marble. A second tendril slams into him, this time in the soft of his belly. A third. A fourth. As he turns, he sees—ah, at least three more of them. What a miscalculation. The hover spell slips away from him; he falls to one knee on the ground.

It _hurts_. When he pulls in his next breath, it feels like he’s tearing himself in two. He grabs at his side and his shirt is soaking wet, warm. He looks down: blood, of course, what else? Far more than he’d expected to see. Every inhale is a sharp pain, and he blinks, tries to focus. 

He’s been in fights before, in situations of violence. They were not very much like this. 

Jester’s voice echoes as though she’s screaming his name from a separate timeline. He’s struck again, twice. So, they hunt in packs, and it seems they have decided to pick off the weakest of the group. Nature has its own intelligence. Essek has considered the idea of dying quite often these past few years. He’s heard stories; the long-consecuted like to turn their various deaths into dinner party tales, to compare notes. Essek did not consider that his own death, first and only, might be so _stupid_. 

Drenched in his own blood, he pats numbly for his component pouch. Obsidian. He can call his own echo to guard him. This is a plan. His hands skitter uselessly, he cannot make them obey—and something slams into his neck. He registers the tendril whipping back. It seems it has taken much of his throat with it. He chokes on his next breath; his mind pulses in and out. Ah. Like this, then. 

He registers heat. Fire streaks past him on either side, low to the ground, and then a tower of flames flares above him. The fire roars and he can smell the acrid rank of burning fur. Caleb steps into view, steady and deadly as he controls the spell. Essek’s vision patches over. His ears ring. 

The world dulls. 

_____________________

When Essek comes to, he opens his eyes and is forced to shut them against the afternoon brightness. He can feel hands on his body: a small pair is pressed firmly against his chest, a larger pair steadies his head and gently strokes his hair.

He opens his eyes again, this time more slowly. There are dark shadows that slowly take on more familiar shapes. He can tell that his head is propped in someone’s lap as he lies on the ground. 

“Oh. My. God,” Jester says. “Are you okay?”

Essek tries to reply and manages an undignified croak. He sighs. He can see now that Jester has knelt down next to him, her face not far from his. She looks … worried. He imagines he must look terrible. Of course he would: he’d just been closer to death than he had ever managed before.

He tries to sit up and finds that he is woozy. The hands that were cradling his head now move to steady him as he sits, and when Essek peers over his shoulder, it’s Caleb there beside him.

“You gave us a bit of a scare,” Caleb says. There is the hint of relief in his eyes. “Are you all right to stand?”

“Um, yes. Thank you.” 

This is awful.

Essek begins to stand, and immediately Jester and Caleb are both there to help him. He manages to do it on his own, but it’s no less humiliating. He brushes the forest debris from his pants and sees the state of his clothes. The pants are splattered in mud and what is likely his own blood. The shirt is simply ruined, large swathes torn out and stained red. He closes the open flap at his side experimentally. He has more clothes, but of course many of them are less suited for this trek, and it feels so incredibly imprudent to have ruined things this soon after departing.

“Oh, Essek!” Jester clasps her hands and tucks them under her chin. “I can try Mending that for you, if you’d like. I’m very good at it.”

Mending is a useful little cantrip; Essek never found himself with the spare mental capacity for it. He’s uneasy, but somehow, not for the first time, it is difficult to say no to Jester. “I, uh, I suppose I must thank you once again, then. Please.”

She giggles and gently places her hands on his shirt as she prepares the spell. She moves them along his stomach to another rip and repeats the process. The act itself isn’t particularly salacious, but she grins and bites her lip, the faintest sliver of fang peeking out. She glances unsubtly over at Caleb as she continues repairing each tear. Caleb’s gaze connects with Essek’s for a brief moment, and then he turns away. Essek looks away and sees for the first time that all of the Mighty Nein are standing around him now, their attention sweeping between him and the dense green surrounding them all. After a few more castings, Jester bounces back a few paces and curtsies.

“All done! I can’t clean it for you, though, unless we find some water. I didn’t prepare that spell today.”

Caduceus perks his ears and connects with Jester. “Water spell? I brought that today.”

For a brief moment Essek pictures the firbolg blasting him with some torrent of magically conjured water, and then it occurs to Essek that he should not let that happen.

“I can clean these myself, thank you.”

And he does. A few quick castings of Prestidigitation and his clothes are as clean as when they touched down in the Wildwoods. He already knows how quickly this will cease to be the case.

“We should look for a place to make camp,” Beauregard says. “This place is crawling with things that want to eat us, and it’s getting late.”

“It is 5:21pm,” Caleb answers. “We should have another hour before dark.”

“Yeah,” Beauregard says tersely, “and we should have camp set up before then.”

“No one disagrees, Beau.” Fjord claps her on the shoulder and nods to Caleb. “Let’s move on and keep an eye out for a good spot.”

The group gives each other a final look before falling back into the marching order they’d adopted earlier. Caleb walks up from behind Essek and places his hand lightly on the small of Essek’s back. He leans in to Essek.

“Stay close to me. We are stronger together.”

He gives Essek one of those looks. The look that pierces, ignites a spark deep within. He wants to look away, but even more than that, Essek wants to _keep_ looking into those blue depths. Caleb smiles, almost imperceptible, except Essek is currently studying his face for any hidden secret — and then Caleb withdraws his hand and picks up his pace to match the group in front of them.

Essek swallows, his mouth inexplicably dry, and falls into step next to Caleb.

_____________________

He is sore. 

This is actually an understatement, as Essek is undeniably in pain. He’s never been so injured before, and despite the healing spells so graciously given, his chest aches with every breath. He supposes, even outside the battle, he’s also never pushed himself quite so far physically; they’ve been hiking all day, and he somehow has managed to keep up with the Mighty Nein. Or perhaps they have slowed their pace to match his. The idea sits like spoiled food in his gut, and as his stomach twists on itself he huffs out a breath to disguise the audible gurgling. His intent has never been to hold them back.

The sun is beginning to set. The brightness of the day slowly drains from the sky as the sun burns red. It’s something of a relief, the coming darkness. Even with the jungle providing some cover much of the time, it’s been both unpleasant and difficult to function in the light. 

Fjord’s deep voice breaks his thoughts. “What do you think, Caduceus? This a good spot?”

Caduceus leans into the space of some flowered vines that wrap around the trunk of a thick tree, whispering to them with a gentle smile. It’s neither the first nor the second time Essek has seen him do this today, but it may be the first time he appreciates what the firbolg is looking to achieve.

“They said that this is often a quiet spot,” Caduceus announces, and the Mighty Nein begin to undo their various packs.

Caleb unhooks one of the books he wears with a practiced ease, then sinks to the ground as he begins flipping the pages. It appears he’s preparing a ritual spell-casting. Essek considers whether he knows the spell Caleb is preparing. A glass bead—Essek is brought to the present when Jester pops in front of him.

“You should get out your sleeping stuff, Essek! When Caleb’s done making the bubble, we can set up and take turns doing watch. Oh! You could take watch with _me_ if you’d like!”

“Jester, he’s had a rough day.” Fjord clasps her shoulder and turns her to face him. “Maybe we’ll let him take a full rest.”

Jester considers the comment as Essek struggles to find an appropriate response. He is drowning in thoughts now: about what happened an hour before, over the last few days, about timelines that could have been and timelines that may yet come to pass.

He is spared when Jester squeezes his forearm for one brief moment before walking off with Fjord. 

He feels heavy, now, in new and worse ways than before. Essek lowers himself to the ground, wincing as the movements pull at freshly sewn skin. 

“It’s different when it’s your own blood, isn’t it?” Beauregard says quietly as she sits down in front of him.

“I suppose it is,” he says. He pauses. It’s so difficult to simply come out and say what’s weighing on him, but he must. “It’s just, well, one’s perspective is very subjective, dependent on where one is in a given moment. What seems inconsequential at one point in time can, at another, seem far more … substantial. It grows ever more plain that I may have miscalculated the risk in my endeavors.”

She barks out a single laugh, then fixes him with an unseemly grin. “Essek, it’s pretty obvious you suck at nefarious plans.”

He looks at the ground and laughs. “You may be right.”

He fishes through his bag for the bedroll he’d never once unfurled. He pauses briefly when a small monkey crawls into his lap, circles twice, and curls up like a cat. He glances over at Caleb, who is still concentrating on his ritual. Beauregard watches Essek carefully—but says nothing. Essek is so unsure of everything, but he gently pats the familiar.

“Here, Beau.”

He looks up as Veth hands Beauregard a small bowl. She surprises him by offering the bowl in her other hand to him. He accepts. At a glance, it appears to be some form of rice porridge.

“Thank you. Do you know what this is, by chance?”

“I don’t know, something Caduceus made. You don’t want it?”

“Oh, I do. Thank you.”

Veth nods and trots off back to Caduceus, who fills another bowl for her out of a lidded clay pot. Beauregard is slowly sipping from her own bowl. Her posture is more relaxed now. Essek is not sure he could relax in this place if he tried. Not now. 

He takes a tentative sip from his bowl. The porridge is lukewarm, but the flavors are bold: hearty mushroom that nearly melts on the tongue, a nutty sweetness that sings of sesame oil. He takes another sip and savors the rich layers of flavor cooked into the rice. This is comfort food; something Essek has had little opportunity for, but _oh_ is the name apt.

Veth is now sitting down next to Beauregard, peering at him over the rim of her own bowl.

“So. Essek. How’s adventuring going for you so far?” She squints harder.

“I would say it has not gone very well for me so far.” Beauregard hardly disguises her snort. “But, I am eager for the opportunity to become a stronger ally.”

Beauregard latches onto that. “So is this just about you getting stronger?”

“No.” For a moment, Essek considers if he knows what this _is_ about. He thinks, perhaps, he may now have more of an idea. “I suppose that it’s about repaying debts that are owed. To you. To others.”

“ _Can_ you repay those debts though?” she asks.

“It is … doubtful, but I would like to try.”

Veth wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “What will you do after we leave here? What other deeds will you do?” She places her empty bowl on the ground next to her.

“I’m not sure.”

He expects more criticisms. They are rightly deserved, after all, and he’s hardly sure what he’s doing any more. 

“You did all right today,” Veth says. “Well, okay, you actually didn’t do that good. You were kind of terrible, really. Awful.” 

He is taken aback.

“Yeah, Essek,” Beauregard adds. “You can’t just leave yourself open like that. When you’re part of a team, you have to work together to protect each other.”

“That was the intention,” Essek says, a little sharp. 

“Yeah, well,” Beauregard says. She’s looking down at her bowl now. “Maybe next time you want to play hero, think first before you step out in front of the enemy and get gutted.” 

There’s a beat of silence; the atmosphere between the three of them has turned heavy, and Essek doesn’t really understand why. Despite her snippiness, Beauregard doesn’t seem truly angry with him right now. Neither of them do.

“I was not playing hero. I was trying to … nip a problem in the bud.” Essek shakes his head. “Obviously the other displacer beasts then explained to me the defects in my strategy.”

“Well, you tried,” Veth says. “The Mighty Nein might have a spot for you if you can keep doing good.” She meets his eyes. “You know, I think you can. You showed us that today.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but finds no fitting words.

Beauregard leans forward and slaps his shoulder, a little hard. “Maybe go to Caleb for tips about not getting your skinny ass KOed. He learned the hard way too.”

Veth grins. “Yeah, he used to get knocked out all the time. I was basically his full-time bodyguard.” She flexes her little bicep. 

Essek is fairly sure she still is his bodyguard. He doesn’t say that. He looks down, curls his hands around his bowl, allows himself a small smile. 

Caleb calls out. “The bubble is ready! Everyone in!”

The group begins to gather their things. Beauregard and Veth casually stand and gesture to Essek to follow. The Nein all enter the conjured dome that glistens a deep shade of green to match the darkening jungle. 

“Okay guys, we only have the _one_ diamond, so it’d be really super cool if no one died tomorrow!”

“But if you do, I have a thing for that,” Caduceus says cheerfully.

It’s charmingly ominous.

_____________________

Essek had never paid much attention to Tiny Hut as a spell, but it strikes him now that the clue is in the name. The Nein arrange themselves and their sleeping rolls within the dome in what seems a practiced order, like completing a familiar jigsaw or packing a too-small bag. Caduceus curls his long body round the outside. Jester uses Beauregard’s thigh as a pillow, and Beauregard waits until Jester is asleep (three breaths) to wad up her scarf and place it between Jester’s horn tip and her own leg. Veth curls into a ball around Frumpkin, and Caleb spoons up against her. Yasha drives her sword into the ground and sits upright against it, staring out into the jungle as she begins the first watch. Beauregard moves Fjord’s boots out of the way of her nose. All of this occurs with barely a grumbling word. There is an inch of space at most between any of them. 

Essek sits cross-legged, hands folded in his lap, and tries to imagine how he might possibly fall into rest like this, packed in like a net full of fishes. At least four people are snoring. 

“You get used to it,” Caduceus mutters. Essek looks down. Caduceus’ head is close to Essek’s left knee. Automatically, he shifts to grant him an inch more personal space. 

“It’s certainly an adjustment,” Essek says, and twitches a little smile. 

“I imagine it’s cosier than your tower,” Caduceus says. “I grew up in a big family, small house. This isn’t entirely unlike that in some ways. But I was alone awhile, before these guys.” He opens an eye, looks up. “It’s a change. Sometimes that’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Change is a very necessary … part of life,” Essek says, struggling a little. Conversations with Caduceus give him what might be called the opposite feeling to trying to join in with the group. The Nein together veer off at tangents into the trivia and flotsam of friendship, well worn in-jokes and references Essek can’t follow. Caduceus turns a conversation about Fjord’s snoring into an exercise in spiritual guidance. 

Spiritual guidance is absolutely, categorically not Essek’s thing; but he appreciates the thought. 

“You’re doing good,” Caduceus mutters, and closes his eyes. “One day at a time, huh?”

Essek sucks in a slow breath, and tries. 

_____________________

Of course, after this day of all days, rest would elude him. Essek loathes not being able to quiet his mind into a trance; it’s an uneasy thing to not have control over his own body and mind. It makes him feel exposed. 

Perhaps, after today, that is merely realistic. As he sits, listening to loud breathing and louder snoring, his healed wounds twinge and pull, and his back and legs ache. The sense-memories of those moments of the fight play again and again in his head, vivid and strange: the breathtaking shock of the first blow and that surge of fight-or-flight energy; the pain and the helplessness, the ruined red mess of his own body and the useless hammering of his heart; the burn of choking on his own blood; that odd woozy calm at the end. He’s witnessed all these things before, but Beauregard was right, and right to be pointed about it: it’s very different when you’re the one on the ground dying in your own gore. 

The mask of the Shadowhand—polished, inscrutable, fearsome, and crafted so carefully—was always a comfort in its own way. It feels far from him now. It would not have saved him from the displacer beasts, he thinks, and he wonders what else it might not protect him from. 

He hears soft footsteps in the dome. Veth, done with her watch, is shaking Caleb awake; he hears her whispers, Caleb grumbling softly in Zemnian. He cracks his eyes open. Then he sees, too late, that Caleb is already looking him in the eye. 

“Have you rested?” Caleb whispers. Essek instinctively wants to brush it off, especially with Veth there watching, but he finds himself shaking his head. 

Veth gives Essek an assessing look, then picks her way over to where Jester lies, still using Beauregard’s thigh as a pillow, but now somehow spreadeagled on her back. Veth lays down tucked next to Jester, head pillowed on her hands. Jester’s arm moves around her automatically. 

Caleb inclines his head and makes a small gesture with one hand, an invitation. 

Essek has no intention of bothering Caleb with his pointless night thoughts, but Caleb is awake on watch now anyway, and he can’t help but welcome the company. He rises carefully into a hover and glides over to Caleb, bending his knees a little to avoid kicking his sleeping companions. Then he crosses his legs mid-air and lowers himself to sit next to Caleb. 

“That’s a neat trick for a small space.” Caleb smiles. 

Essek huffs, shakes his head. “Perhaps I should learn a neat trick for staying alive.”

“I hope Beauregard didn’t go too hard on you before. Don’t weigh her words too heavily; this is what she does.’

“On the contrary, she was quite generous with me. Given everything, if the worst I must accept is eminently fair criticism of my poor strategy … ” Essek shrugs. 

Caleb sighs, and places a hand on Essek’s shoulder. 

“She cares about this group. Including you. That was scary, seeing you fall earlier.”

Essek twitches a smile. “Not a very enjoyable few moments for me, either.” 

“It gave me pause,” Caleb says. “Perhaps this is a poor time to say this, but it made me think again about the Assembly. The lengths they will go to. You are a loose end, my friend. I worry for you.”

“What I said yesterday evening is still true,” Essek says. “I have no new information that might concern me for my own safety.”

Caleb looks at him sharply. “But?”

“But I’m beginning to think I’ve miscalculated.” Caleb squeezes his shoulder. Essek looks down. “The Cerberus Assembly may take a little longer to arrange their ambushes than displacer beasts, of course.”

“They strike hard. Believe me, I know very well.”

“I concerned myself with nothing but my own safety and progress for a long time. Yet my judgment was still lacking.”

“I would say from today you’re not concerning yourself enough with your own safety. Essek, you are an incredibly gifted wizard, but there is more to keeping safe than an advanced spellbook, as you have undoubtedly learned today.” Caleb speaks with such openness. It tugs at something within Essek; makes him struggle to hold himself back. 

Essek huffs a laugh. “You may have a point, but I am far more selfish than either you or Beauregard give me credit for. I’m—concerned—but I do not plan to fall victim to the Assembly’s ambitions.”

“I used to tell myself a similar thing, when I first joined up with these people here.” Caleb moves his hand to the back of Essek’s neck, strokes his thumb along the hairline. “Essek. I do not want to see you die. I am going to stop the Assembly, my friends and I. I want to see to it that they can’t destroy any more lives, and that includes yours. I’m somewhat selfish, still: I need you safe. You understand?”  
  
“I’m also very keen to survive,” Essek says. “But I’m not particularly sure I deserve special protection. I created this problem myself. And today aside, I’m very good at looking after my own safety.”

“Essek,” Caleb says. He puts a hand to Essek’s cheek. His stare has become intense. “I do not give out my friendship easily. _I_ will decide if a person is worthy of it, and if I will look after the people I care for.” 

The tenderness of it is hard to bear. Caleb like this can make him feel as though he has lost a layer of skin. He puts his hand over Caleb’s on his own cheek, looks at him, and then can no longer meet his gaze. 

“I’ve been protecting myself for a long time,” Essek says. “I know politics. Please don’t worry about me.”

“As I said. That isn’t your choice to make.”

“Please,” Essek whispers. “I couldn’t bear it if you—if any of you—got hurt protecting me from my own foolishness.” It’s awful, speaking the truth, baring himself like this. He wants to run. 

Caleb puts one finger of his free hand under Essek’s chin, and, gently, nudges him to lift his head. Essek lets it happen. 

Caleb’s face is close, his eyes very wide, his voice a whisper. “And I could not bear to see _you_ hurt. So please,” he says. His voice drops further. “Please, let us protect one another.”

Essek feels like he cannot move, he cannot speak. He feels moved beyond words, idiotic, unworthy. Whatever he says about himself, Caleb Widogast is that rare thing, a good man: not just brilliant and beautiful, but brave, generous, and compassionate. Essek could never match him. His fingers twitch over Caleb’s; he nods, helplessly. He doesn’t understand how this man can see the worst parts of Essek and not discount a speck of them, yet still choose him, again and again. 

When they move together, he imagines that Caleb is drawing him into a hug. Instead they land in a soft kiss on the lips. Of course, he thinks. This is where I was going all along. 

They part after a moment, and Caleb smiles with one side of his mouth, looks down. The awkwardness of it is so charming, it stirs Essek’s heart so strangely, that without thinking Essek draws him in again, and they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. 

It’s slow, sweet. Caleb kisses how he talks: so intense and so careful. His stubble scrapes Essek’s chin. Essek hasn’t kissed like this, hasn’t kissed at all, in decades. They part, lean foreheads together, trace each others’ faces. One such pause extends. Essek’s fingertips stroke the line of Caleb’s jaw; Caleb smiles broader than Essek has ever seen, chuckles low. It’s infectious; Essek grins, and huffs a laugh, and strokes a hand through that beautiful tousled fall of orange-red hair. Their eyes meet, and dip down and meet again. Essek feels pulses of joy, and terror, and he is too exhausted to parse any of this. 

“I have to keep watch,” Caleb whispers.

“I’ll sit with you,” Essek replies. He grins again; he can’t help himself. 

Leaning against a couple of rucksacks, they sit shoulder to shoulder, silently watching the jungle beyond the dome. Soft breezes move the trees. In the quiet, as Essek grows used to the noises of his sleeping companions, the night sounds of the jungle seem to rise in volume: the sweet, rhythmic chirping of—what are those? Crickets? Cicadas? Frogs? The chorus is soothing, whatever it is, particularly here in the temperate safety of the dome with Caleb Widogast next to him. 

There is an easiness to this, a peace, which feels so foreign and new, yet so entirely welcome and right. Frumpkin wanders between their laps as they watch. Every so often, Caleb will bump his shoulder against Essek’s, and they will share a smile. At some point, Caleb’s hand lands on Essek’s thigh, and Essek squeezes it, then holds it. 

“It’s three o’clock,” Caleb whispers in his ear at last. “I’m going to wake Fjord in a moment.” Essek turns to him. They kiss again without trying, long and unhurried. When they part, Caleb whispers, “Would you lie down with me?”

“Yes,” Essek whispers back. He leans in for one last soft press of their lips together. 

With a flick of the wrist, Essek floats over his bedroll from where he’d folded it on the ground as a cushion. He shuffles into his bedroll and lays out Caleb’s next to his, while Caleb picks his way over to shake Fjord by the shoulder. A few moments later, he hears Fjord groaning and sitting up, and Caleb’s soft steps back over to where he’s lying. Caleb settles into his bedroll and curls into place at Essek’s back, necessarily close. It’s an oddly domestic process. Their bodies slot quietly together. Caleb places a hesitant arm on Essek’s shoulder, and Essek takes his hand, tucks the arm against his good side. 

Caleb, enviably, is asleep in moments, but tucked in comfortably with a warm body at his back, Essek thinks he might now manage some rest. 

_____________________

The ship pitches gently against the surface waves. The night air is mostly calm, and the moonlight reflects softly on the water. It’s calming, and a welcome reprieve from the daylight. Essek leans against the rail and inhales deeply.

In a few more hours, they will depart for the Copia Wildwoods. It’s another one of the Nein’s many tasks, and another occasion to add to their growing list of debts owed. Except they’re beyond debts and favors now. They’re friends — or perhaps that opportunity has also passed. He’s unsure, but he finds he still longs for this chance. 

“So, you’re one of those Kryn drow? From the peace negotiations?”

The man looks young, with light-colored hair that’s cropped close on all sides except for the top, where it’s long enough for a fashionable swoop. By the ears Essek guesses he is at least part-elf, likely from the Menagerie Coast. Essek hadn’t noticed his approach; the young sailor is now leaning on the same rail only an arm’s-width apart. Essek is slipping, more and more as the days pass. 

“I am of the Kryn Dynasty,” he answers after a moment.

“Huh. How in the hells did they recruit you, then? Sorry, sorry.” He waves his hands. “That’s none of my business. It’s just curious is all, which I guess makes sense for this lot. The name’s Marius, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” 

Everything Essek has known the Nein to do has been curious.

“So, tell me, Marius, how long have you been in the service of this ship?”

“Hm, I think it’s been six months now. I mean, we weren’t always on _this_ ship, though, and there were pirates? And then I guess we were pirates ourselves for a bit as well … that was something, to say the least.”

“They have mentioned to me their previous piracy.”

Marius leans forward slightly and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Did they happen to mention whether we were heading back to Revelry waters or…?”

Essek turns as he hears the soft thud of heavy boots on deck.

“Marius, give me a report of the night’s activity. Were there any incidents?”

Marius snaps to attention. Fjord has joined them on deck now, the captain of this vessel and a member of the Mighty Nein. Essek learned hours ago just how little he knows of this man.

“Aye, Captain. It’s been a quiet night so far.”

Fjord grins broadly as he settles himself against the rail and crosses his arms. “Did you _kill_ anyone? Marius?”

“Ah … no, Captain.”

“You’ve some time left on your shift.” Fjord gestures to Essek. “See to it now.”

Marius glances nervously at Essek for the briefest moment. Essek laughs — for the first time in weeks, months. He calculates how quickly he might end the young sailor’s life if he’d actually needed to. The poor soul would never reach his weapon.

Fjord laughs as well, deep and rich. “Thanks for the report, Marius. Please let Orly know that I’ll be there to relieve him shortly.”

“Aye, sir. Uh, you’re welcome. I’ll be going.” Marius salutes awkwardly and scurries toward the aft of the ship.

“He tries,” Fjord says fondly. “Which is all anyone can really ask for.”

“I suppose,” Essek says. It’s not a sentiment with which he has much familiarity. 

The dens of the Kryn Dynasty demand more than effort: they expect results. None more so than his own den and the title it afforded him. Essek has always strived to rise above expectation lest there be any questions regarding his worth.

“Tell me, Essek, how’s Rosohna been the last few days? Jester told us things were getting back to normal?”

“As much as can be expected. The Bright Queen has ordered the return of all war troops, as well as a halt to the production of further machinery. It is still an uneasy time, of course, as the Dynasty watches for outward signs of betrayal. I expect the Empire to behave much the same.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Hope everyone can keep to their word, though.”

“Indeed.”

Fjord turns and faces Essek, still leaning one elbow against the rail. “So, you’re helping us take care of this Uk’otoa business, helping me really. Is there anything we can help you with?”

Essek can’t speak. He wants to answer this — _protect me_ — but instead he holds that breath and stares out into the ocean. There are many things he wants to achieve. Wanted to achieve, before the weight of his choices grew too heavy to bear. He honestly isn’t sure what he’d like help with right now. He is so unused to receiving it.

“You know, when I first started this whole journey,” Fjord says quietly, “before I knew any of the Mighty Nein, I was very lost.” 

Essek turns to face Fjord now.

“I don’t mean to presume, but from what little we know about the dens of the Dynasty … well. I grew up an orphan, in an institution. I never had a family of my own, really. It was a very lonely time.”

Essek breaks away to face the ocean again. He has never really had this sort of conversation before. He tried that time, over wine, but he is well aware of how awkward he’d been.

Fjord mirrors Essek’s pose and continues. It’s helpful not to feel his gaze right now. This vulnerability feels too close for comfort; Essek’s mask has been cracking the last few months and he doesn’t trust himself with this.

“When I was older, I turned to the sea. Lots of folks in Port Damali do.” Fjord chuckles to himself. “I guess I wasn’t such a forward thinker, but I was happier on the ocean. Or I thought I was. On that ship, the Tide’s Breath, I learned what power might look like: to have the confidence and command of those around you, and the chance to influence your destiny. I thought that was what I was missing, and I craved it.”

Essek responds, surprising himself. “I … I can understand such a feeling.” 

“I felt like I couldn’t be myself, though. That my weaknesses would hold me back. Weaknesses people had pointed out my whole life. Weaknesses that may have lived only in my head. I’ve since come to learn that you don’t have to do things the way they were done to you.”

Fjord places a hand on Essek’s shoulder and squeezes. Essek glances to the side and finds Fjord is looking right at him.

“You can choose to be yourself, and there will be people who love and respect you for that. The Mighty Nein, they’ve done that for me. Accepted me for who I am, embraced me. I’m a changed man because of them, for the better. I think you are too.”

Essek shakes his head. “I’m not sure that is true … but I appreciate you saying so.”

“Give it time,” Fjord says, his expression soft. 

Essek nods because he’s not sure what he can say. Fjord nods and moves away from the railing they’re both leaning on. 

“I’ll be at the helm.”

Fjord’s heavy footfalls grow dull against the crash of the water against the ship’s hull.

“Thank you,” Essek says so softly he’s sure Fjord would never hear.

_____________________

The morning is a little mortifying. 

Essek wakes to find that he has slept, truly slept, for the first time in decades. He can tell from the unpleasant drowsiness and the fading memory of bizarre dreams. He’s always particularly disliked dreaming. He registers, in order, his location (on the ground in the Copia Wildwoods, unwashed and far from home on an insane mission), the company (the Mighty Nein, who are seeing him in total disarray) and the events of the last day (a brush with death, many uncomfortable conversations, and kissing Caleb Widogast). It’s all a little much. 

Caleb is ruffling Essek’s hair. “Hey,” he says. “We are on the move.” Essek sits up, faster than he feels able to, conscious before all else of the need to seem in control. It’s a moment before his brain makes the connection; everyone here sleeps, no one will find it unusual. 

Veth is giving both of them a toothy, unabashed grin. It occurs to Essek that he and Caleb slept close; wait, has she noticed? 

Caleb cups Essek’s cheek and kisses him softly on the lips. “Good morning,” he says, eyes sparkling. 

Essek summons the composure to return the _good morning_ and to ignore the several pairs of eyes upon the pair of them. Now, he presumes, everyone has noticed. Where Essek comes from, romantic gestures are normally a little more private and restrained. A lot more. _Roll with it_ , Caduceus had said. Not about this, specifically, but still. Essek is trying.

_____________________

Hours after departing their campsite, they stumble upon a worn path in the jungle. However, Essek’s mind is elsewhere. He still feels the spark of Caleb’s lips on his. It had never really seemed within the realm of possibility, having something physical between them. Attractive is too mild a word for Caleb Widogast, but Essek had not even entertained the idea of them being together long enough to dismiss it. They both had prior goals to which they devoted themselves; their growing friendship was surprise and gift enough. And of course, Essek had betrayed their friendship since before the very start … and yet Caleb had kissed him … and Essek had kissed him back. A few times. And once again this morning, even. 

“Essek!” Jester purrs, looping her arm into his. Essek smiles and accepts the gesture with mild resignation. “Did you sleep well last night? You must be so used to sleeping _alone_ that it was difficult.” She nudges him gently in the ribs. 

“I’m also used to taking my rest on a more comfortable surface,” he says. “Nevertheless, I am adaptable.”

“Me too!” Jester says. “The beds at my mom’s place are like, so comfortable, I never knew! First time I slept on the ground, it was kind of exciting but in the morning I was like, what the fuck is this shit? My back hurts and I feel super stinky.” She leans in and sniffs before Essek can do much about it. “You really don’t smell bad, though.”

“Thank you,” Essek says, reflexively twitching up an eyebrow. 

“Are you excited about the temple? Caleb gets excited about this kind of stuff. I mean, not the fighting part although you’re both really super good at killing shit, so you have that in common, but the ancient history crazy lore part. The nerdy crap.”

“I’m extremely fond of ancient history nerdy crap,” Essek adds. “One of my hobbies, inasmuch as I have time.”

Jester leans in. “You guys have _so much_ in common,” she says. “Still, I really hope we can finish up this temple thingy pretty quick. TravelerCon is so close!”

“It has been my personal experience that the Mighty Nein deals with problems in a terrifyingly expedient manner.” He pauses. He’s sure he remembers Jester speaking about this TravelerCon before. “Please remind me about your event?”

“Oh you remember the Traveler? He’s an archfey, but also sort of a god, and you can come with us and meet him! We’re hosting a whole thing for him on a volcano so everyone can meet him and see how cool he is — or you could meet him right now if you like? I can totally pray to him and see if he’s doing anything right now.” 

Essek tries to imagine something he’d like added to this trip less than a bored archfey with aspirations to godhood: a chromatic dragon with toothache, perhaps, or ten very hungry illithids, or maybe even the consequences of his own actions. 

“Perhaps, another time, Jester.” Caleb cuts in. “We have a long journey ahead of us. If Essek would like to converse with a fey noble, then I suggest this one.” 

Frumpkin the monkey blinks into existence on Caleb’s shoulder, then instantly hops to Essek. Essek is getting used to that, somewhat. Jester eyes the familiar with a sort of sad longing. 

“I hope Sprinkle is doing okay back on the boat and he’s not super lonely or anything.”

“Marius took good care of him once before,” Caleb says. “I’m sure he’s doing fine right now.”

“I hope you’re right, Caleb. He must miss me just like, _so_ much because he just really loves me a lot.” 

Fjord makes a small choking noise, which he turns into a cough. 

Caleb offers Jester half a smile, and Essek finds it difficult to refrain from stealing another kiss. He’s not sure how to feel about the impulse, but it’s not wholly bad.

“Woah, hey, guys!” Beauregard calls from up ahead. 

Everyone looks. Around a sharp twist of the trail stands a twin set of statues, standing tall and imposing, reaching up into the jungle canopy. As Essek steps nearer, he sees they are large sea serpents with great open maws, teeth and whisker filling every available space, tails wrapping upwards into the trees. They appear to guard either side of an old stone staircase rising up to some unnamed place.

Both the serpents and the stairs themselves are _old_ , the carvings weathered with jungle growth wrapped around and between and slick moss rooted into the reliefs. The dense green of the jungle closes in on either side of the staircase, blocking the end from sight. 

Essek cannot but feel a thrill of pure wonder and discovery. How long have these fragments of lost time and purpose stood here, quietly wearing away? What knowledge did they guard, to whom was it precious, what fragments remain to be reached for?

“Uk’otoa,” Jester whispers. Veth echoes her.

“The Ki’Nau probably built this,” Beauregard says. “They were like the first worshippers of Uk’otoa.”

“Ah,” Essek breathes. “Yes, of course.” He notices she is looking at the statues with something of the same spark of fascination in her eyes. 

“So it would seem we are on the right path,” Caleb says as he examines from a short distance. He pulls out a spellbook and begins a ritual cast of Detect Magic. 

Caduceus steps up to the nearest stone beast and stares it in the face for a long moment before casting Detect Magic on the spot. “Hm, these guys are just stone. What about you, what can you tell us?” Essek guesses he is asking the moss.

Fjord addresses the group. “Do we know anything else about this place? A lake in the heart of the jungle, above the cities of the coast?”

“I have actually done some light reading on the history of Copia Lake,” Essek offers. “Once I knew where we were headed.”

“We were on a _boat_. Where’d you find books on that?” Veth asks.

“I had purchased some history texts on my previous visits to Nicodranas. I enjoy historical reading, when I have a moment. The past is rich with unique perspectives.”

Beauregard laughs. “Nerd.”

Essek continues, catching her eye with the smallest smile. She’s far more interested than she’s admitting. “Oh, well then, I won’t bore you with this information.”

“No, no,” Beau says, puffing out her chest a little. “By all means, go on.” 

“Very well,” Essek says, letting his smile broaden and holding her gaze for just a moment. Score one to him. “The Ki’Nau were a largely seafaring people who came to populate the various islands and coastlands of the Menagerie. As you have said, they were the first sect of people to devote themselves to the abandoned champion of Zehir, and Uk’otoa granted them safety in return for their worship.” He can see that Fjord and Caleb are listening to this as avidly as Beauregard. “The waters of Copia Lake lie north of the city Tussoa, at an elevation of roughly one thousand feet. The lake is still considered a sacred pool where the Ki’Nau ascend for purification rituals. As such, the Clovis Concord has outlawed fishing and diving in this lake except for ceremonial purposes.” He looks to Fjord. “You were very astute to estimate a temple to Uk’otoa might exist at this location.”

Fjord blinks. “Well, I knew absolutely none of that, so I’ll put it down to the Wildmother’s guidance or straight, dumb luck.”

Yasha slaps Essek’s shoulder blades so hard that Essek nearly falls onto his face. “I knew you would be good for something.”

Caleb gently puts a hand to the back of Essek’s neck as he rights himself. “You are incredible,” he says. He leans in and gives Essek a quick rough kiss on his temple. Mindful of the company, Essek does his level best to restrict his reaction to a small grin. 

_____________________

It took more than half the day to ascend the stone steps, but the view at the summit almost makes up for it. The jungle opens up before Essek and the Mighty Nein to reveal a crystalline lake, immense and shimmering in the dusk light. In the center of the lake is an island. No, a structure. A stone ziggurat that rises straight from the water, though it is rather small. It’s difficult to gauge at this distance and with no other landmarks to compare.

“Ah,” Fjord says. “This one’s underwater too.”

“Of course it is,” Veth grumbles. “It’s always water.”

“Oh _man_ ,” Jester says to the air. “You could have _mentioned_ that to me!”

Essek jumps as a distant, rich chuckle ripples faintly through the air, and is gone. 

“He got me good on this one,” Jester says with open pride. “Next time, first question: is it underwater?”

Beauregard points to an area not far from the stairs. It looks to have a fire pit of sorts, as though people have camped here many times before.

“What do you guys think?” she asks. “Get some rest and hit this thing in the morning?”

The group consensus seems to be rest. Essek is much inclined to agree. He’s exhausted physically, his calf muscles screaming in tune with his blistered feet, and his mind has been on overdrive since he shared a watch with Caleb the previous night. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, being so drained, and yet it’s immensely more favorable than the deadly tension he’s lived with the last several months. It’s not that this place, this quest, is any less deadly than his other endeavors, but it’s perhaps more honest? It feels as though he’s always had to work in shadow, carefully calculate what to share with whom, to work apart from everyone else, be mistrusted. He’s never felt like he belonged anywhere before. He’s not at all sure that he belongs here … but he imagines this is how it might feel if he did. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sapping Sting (necromancy cantrip):_ You sap the vitality of one creature you can see in range. The target must succeed a Constitution Saving Throw or take 1d4 necrotic damage and fall prone. The spell's damage increases by 1d4 when you reach 5th level (2d4), 11th level (3d4), and 17th level (4d4). 
> 
> _Gravity Sinkhole (4th level evocation):_ A 20-foot-radius sphere of crushing force forms at a point you can see within range and tugs at any creatures there. On a failed Constitution Save, each creature takes 5d10 force damage and is pulled toward the center of the sphere, ending in an unoccupied space as close to the center of the sphere as possible (even if that sphere is in the air). On a successful save, the creature is not pulled and takes half damage.  
>  _At Higher Levels:_ When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 5th level or higher, the damage increases by 1d10 for each slot level about 4th.


End file.
